


To Passion, To Pain, To Paradise.

by siriusshagmesenselessblack



Category: The Mentalist (TV) RPF
Genre: D/s, Dark fic, Dom!Teresa, F/M, Jane wants to punish himself and instead gets punished by Lisbon, Light D/s, No plot just porn, Oneshot, Please be gentle, Punishment, Smut, no lovey dovey feelings found between these two, not a happy fic, sorry I‘m very bad at tagging, sub!jane, what plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22802656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusshagmesenselessblack/pseuds/siriusshagmesenselessblack
Summary: “I did a lot of bad things, Lisbon. Please... Please hurt me.“ His voice was cracking. „All this anger and hatred inside you. Please, let it out.“
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Kudos: 6





	To Passion, To Pain, To Paradise.

Patrick‘s chest heaved and the leather dug into the soft skin on his wrists as he struggled against his restraints. His eyes were blindfolded, but he didn‘t need eyes to track the movements of the woman straddling his hips. Teresa‘s eyes were clouded with something even deeper and more violent than desire, beneath the sea-blue pools whirled a maelstrom that made Patrick ache and shiver in his skin.

„Don‘t move, Jane, or...“

Her voice was as calm and collected as it always was, full of authority, the voice of a woman who knew how to give clear orders.

„Or... what, Lisbon?“ His voice was smug and tainted with usual cockiness, the tone of which he knew it drove her insane and annoyed her to no end.

The sharp half moons of her nails dug into the sensitive skin of his ribcage, just enough to make him hiss and red welts appear in the warm, honey-coloured surface of his skin. Her touch made him flinch, neither of the two knew whether it was to get away from her hand or to lean into it. The pain made him feel alive, more alive than he felt most days, and Teresa knew that. 

To give up all control he ever thought he had, to bare himself before her, body and soul, Lisbon, who had felt so much pain, betrayal and disappointment in her life and still remained pure and just and good. To tell her about his plans, the cruel, violent things he wanted to do to Red John, show her the monster that he became, that lurked beneath his put-together and charismatic spiel he put on every day, to show her every weakness he had and give her the opportunity to hurt him like...

Like he deserved.

Lisbon, the justice angel, would punish him for the things he did wrong, sometimes by hurting him, sometimes by giving him even more memories which he felt ashamed of later, and still.

He always came back for more.

„Nothing I could say right now would make you shut up.“ Her voice was still collected, although he thought he could sense a tinge of repulsion. Until that moment she had remained still, the only thing he felt apart from her legs straddling his hips was the heat radiating in hot waves from her body. But now, oh.

Softly at first, her hips absently circling little circles and eights, he felt her legs push against him in her movements, until he felt her press lightly against his member straining in his briefs, already half hard from the excitement of the pain yet to come.

Just for a moment, at first he thought it to be an illusion, a trick of his touch starved brain. He hadn‘t allowed himself the affection of other women, but this... this was different. This wasn‘t for pleasure or passion.

This was for pain.

Punishment.

Penance.

„I am sure you have thought of other ways to make me shut up, Lis-“

Patrick‘s breath got caught in his throat, partly because her small but strong hand had curled around his neck, and partly because she‘d finally pushed herself flush against his hips. Pleasure surged through him like lightning, making the blood rush through his veins so hot he started to remember how good it could feel.

But this wasn‘t good. This woman wasn‘t Angela.

„Lisbon, I-“  
She didn‘t stop in her movements, still drawing circles against him, rubbing herself against his growing hardness, while her hand still lay on her throat and making him struggle to breathe. „Now is not your time to talk, Jane.“ The pressure of her fingers against his windpipe underlined her point. „Only speak when you are asked.“

She alternated her movements, no longer circling but sliding herself up and down his hard length, torturously slow. Patrick‘s body ached under her touch, it took all his will and fear that she could stop to not rut up and get more friction to end this, give himself the release he craved.

But he knew he didn‘t deserve it.

Didn‘t deserve to be touched in a way that felt so good, a way that made his cells ignite.

„Please Lisbon-“

„Please what?“ She retracted her hand and the pressure of her hips was lifted from him and suddenly he felt cold and alone and unwanted and...

Absolutely and utterly in the place he deserved.  
“I did a lot of bad things, Lisbon. Please... Please hurt me.“ His voice was cracking. „All this anger and hatred inside you. Please, let it out.“

Lisbon stood silent for a moment, contemplating, still not touching him anywhere, not even her warmth was there anymore. Time stood still for a moment, Patrick could hear his own heartbeat in his ears that had turned red around the edges.

After a while, Lisbon broke the silence.

„So you want my pain, my anger...“ Her voice which before had been calm and collected now had turned into a low growl that sent chills down the line of Patrick’s spine. 

He could feel her lips on his neck, skilled and urgent and hot and oh so good, hot breath mingling along on his skin, filling the air with the scent of her and him. Her hand tangled in his hair and pulled on his scalp, exposing the span of his neck and keeping him in place. And it hurt him, hurt him in his back where the muscles protested against his arms stretched above his head, hurt him where she bit too hard, sucked too roughly, kissed too gently and good to be real.

„What for? What do you want, Jane?“ Her other hand started to trail down his body, making the skin pebble with goosebumps and color in a wonderful shade of pink where she grabbed it in handfuls, puling on it, digging her nails into him as if she wanted to strip it all away, the lies, the smart remarks, the wit he protected himself with.

The hand travelled down until it reached soft golden curls that disappeared under the waistband of his shorts.  
„Do you want me to tell you how it was you who killed your wife?“ She yanked his head backwards, making him scream in pain, whilst the other wrapped itself around his hard, aching member.  
„Do you want me to whisper in your ear how you deserve all the pain the world has brought unto you because you weren‘t there in the night when Red John murdered your wife and child?“

She heard him whimper when she started to twist her wrist with vigor. 

„Angela and Charlotte, why couldn‘t you save them? They had so much to give to the world and you...“ He choked back a scream, didn‘t want to give himself and her the pleasure of outing his pain. „You couldn‘t do your job and save them.“

She moved herself with skill, she knew how to invoke the pleasure and pain within him that he deserved, craved. Pushed herself against him and rutted against his leg, chasing her own pleasure. He was nearly there, she could smell it on him, see it in the was his body strained. 

But not yet...

„Maybe you want me to tell you that they both would have been better without you in their lives...“, she gasped, and he stayed silent.

She knew he was crying.

Knew he thought exactly that. His depression-induced mind completely convinced of it. This was one of the reasons he worked with them, why he put himself into dangerous and stupid situations over and over again, without regards to Lisbon worrying about him.

Her instincts urged her to stop all this, to comfort him, but her mind knew that he wouldn‘t be able to take it, that her stoping would be a worse pain for him than anything else.

It meant that she didn‘t care for him.

So instead she dug on his hair again, fist buried in the hair on the back of his neck, her teeth sunk into the strong flesh of his shoulder as she sent him over the edge, a breathless cry on his lips the name of a woman, neither of them knew who it was.


End file.
